Page 116 of Once Upon a Lie

Why is there gunfire at my father’s charity gala? Why does Shane have a gun right now? Why does every truth I’ve ever believed feel like it’s unraveling in front of me? And why does it feel like the perfect story I imagined is rewriting itself without permission?

Maybe fairy tales don’t start with Once upon a time after all. Maybe they start with Once upon a lie.

43

Shane

8:15 p.m.

Guests run and scamper away from the violence, screaming and sounds of fear following in their wake.

Federal agents crawl across the lawn, diving behind tables and rolling through grass as I take cover behind the bar in the corner of the dance floor.

I spot the gunman as he moves with precision just out of my range, and I know instantly he’s not just some random shooter. He’s dressed too well, moves with certainty, and scans faces like he knows them. He’s not staff or security. He’s one of Cordone’s guests, trained to maim and kill if necessary, and here for a reason.

Mike and Nico signal each other on the other side of the floor with hand motions and the go-ahead, and then agents run the takedown effort toward the gunman in the far northwest corner. I hold my position as a means to keep a line of defense between everyone else and Valentina.

My heart gallops while I gulp air and blink against the adrenaline of the job as it meets a personal edge it never has before.

SWAT doesn’t show up for white-collar arrests. Clearly, the Feds were ready for something big to happen, and evidently, they were right. This wasn’t just about simply bringing Tommy into custody. This wasn’t just serving a warrant and getting him in cuffs.

They knew the possibility of shit going down was high and prepared for it. I had the intuition, but still, I didn’t anticipate this. If I had, I would have found a way to stop Teeny from coming, even if it meant picking up a kidnapping charge and spending a decade in prison.

Pop, pop, pop rings out again as more gunfire rains in this direction, the gunman not yet apprehended.

I scan the closest tables for additional threats, cataloging the features of each and every person using them as cover and analyzing them against the players I know.

Tommy Cordone and his wife are tucked behind an upturned table in the center, and she quivers under the tablecloth while he searches the roped-off area behind me for possibilities. But I can tell by the look in his eyes he’s not a man looking for a safe place to protect his wife. He’s looking for an exit—or someone who can help him find one.

I crane my neck to get a view of the column where I left Valentina and then focus back on Tommy as several single-round shots go off from guys in SWAT gear. When he looks at the balloon-arched main entrance like he’s about to sneak out and leave the rest of us here to fend for ourselves, I execute a pointed maneuver toward him.

I hate to leave this station and get farther away from Valentina, but at the sound of Mike’s commanding shout for the convergence of backup, I have a feeling they have the gunman in hand.

And the last thing I’m going to do is let the man at the root of all this—the man who was silently putting his own daughter in harm’s way—get away.

Moving quickly, I sprint and jump behind the cover of another table at the front, lunging for Tommy and pulling him to a stop by the collar of his tuxedo jacket.

He fights it, but I wrestle him back until I’ve got both his hands behind his back and pull him down behind the table to put his chest in the grass.

I hear shouts and then the all clear, and I work on getting to a stand without letting go of Tommy Cordone.

“Fuck me. This was supposed to be clean,” I hear Mike snarl from a few feet away. “A quiet grab. No fireworks.”

“Pretty sure your expectations were too high.” And that voice, I know with certainty, is Nico Cordone.

Mike sighs. When he and Nico find me standing there with Tommy Cordone in my custody, I know by the crease of their eyebrows I’m about to get shit, even before they open their mouths.

“Get the fuck off me!” Tommy snaps as Mike’s jaw gets tight. Nico, on the other hand, is too busy watching his father lose his shit to focus on me and the fact that I am not supposed to be here.

“You fucking Feds! You just put everyone in fucking danger! No one woulda been shooting if you pieces of shit hadn’t been sniffing around my gala! There’s innocent fucking people here! Do you even know—”

But when Tommy sees his own son standing there, he chokes on his words. “Nico?”

Though Nico doesn’t get to answer that question, because Mike is far too focused on my presence. Inside this gala. Where I most definitely shouldn’t be.

“I fucking knew that was you I spotted running across the goddamn dance floor. What the fuck are you doing here, Maddox?” Mike asks while Tommy bristles in my arms at the sight of his son.

“Just felt like coming to a party, sir,” I reply. His face folds into something I should be afraid of. I don’t react, however, because I’m a little busy holding on to the fucking guy they wanted in custody in the first place.